


A Liminal Bridge

by Photosynthetic_People



Series: Swords and Starlight [2]
Category: Sorcery (Video Game), Steve Jackson's Sorcery! - Steve Jackson
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Fantasizing about sex, I need an option to feed him on the bridge!, Masterbation, Not well beta read, POV Second Person, blimberry potions, snattacats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Photosynthetic_People/pseuds/Photosynthetic_People
Summary: My take on what happen on the bridge and shortly thereafter. It’s second person pov, of you as Flanker.
Relationships: Analander/Flanker, F!Analander/Flanker
Series: Swords and Starlight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798918
Kudos: 9





	A Liminal Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Liminal, Adjective:A transitional or initial stage of a process. Or occupying a position at or on both sides of a threshold. 
> 
> Also a shitty reference to Liminal Bridges, an elderscrolls book.

The day has been a long one and the night longer still. Your mind races trying to understand things that should not be happening, things that both do and do not exist. With snattacats about it is not safe to stay in their den to tend your wounds, however you need to bind them. 

Quickly you make your way to higher ground climbing a tall tree for safety and a better vantage point. It is far too easy of a climb for you to be safe for long, should there be anymore snattacats lurking nearby. Working quickly you bind your left leg and side. You hear a soft rustling and looking at the flowering bush nearby you note the way it moves slowly as if being brushed by an invisible hand. 

You unsheathe your assassins blade hands still shaking from adrenaline, your pulse beating rapidly in your chest as you once again move to face what should not exist.

Still you do not know fear, only weakness of the body. 

Leaping out of the tree you thrust your sword downwards. It strikes true and the snattacat appears. You twist the blade as you pull it free from its chest and the cat howls in pain. This makes seven; Sindla willing, it will be the last. You move away to from the grove to an animal trail, you will be more exposed out here however you will travel faster. You pause to wipe your sword down with a rag, the invisible blood making it difficult to clean but you manage. Satisfied your sword is clean you sheathe it.

Moving quickly away towards what looks to be great stone ruins of a bridge you note there are handholds in the stone, large enough for it to be an easy climb. Your hands shake as you try to climb, your grip slips and you curse falling back to the ground. 

You recite Sindlas litany for healing, you feel calmer for it, though you receive little healing from your goddess. Reciting her prayers calms your mind and focuses your will. You recite her prayer once more and finally your hands stop shaking.

The hand holds are old, wide and weathered by the rain and time, no trace of a stone carving tool remains. Taking a leap you hoist yourself up off the ground pulling yourself up and using your feet to keep yourself steady. Despite your skill, the climb is a difficult one due to its sheer height and the torrent of rain that has decided to suddenly pour. 

You curse, it is as though the very jungle itself wishes you dead. 

The flash torrent stops as abruptly as it started, leaving you soaked, the bridge's stones slick and most likely your provisions ruined. Still you press on, you need to find a proper place to tend to your wounds and shelter for the night and you can think of little better than atop a towering ruined bridge, far away from the foul beasts that stalk the forest floors.

You hear the dying yowls of the last invisible beast you ran through you know better than to look down from this height, you are high enough for a fall to kill even someone as agile as yourself. You climb further still, reaching halfway on the towering broken bridge. Your bloodied leg almost loses purchase on a particularly worn handhold and you make the split second decision to push off the ruined bridge's pillars; diving effortlessly into the causeway meant for goods and servants in another age, you roll to your feet.

Ruined as it is, the jungle’s fauna has begun to creep in, there is a sapling trying to grow in the thin layer of dirt and lush leafy bushes large enough to hide and rest in. You part the bushes cautiously sword at the ready, should there be any invisible birds that want your blood residing inside. 

You find nothing residing inside, it is safe to shelter in you nestle up into the edge of the bush giving you both coverage and enough room to move to tend to your wounds.

Unwrapping the bindings to check your wounds, you count five claw marks that cut deep enough they may require stitches. “Thrice damned invisible cats, If I never see another one, it will be too soon.” You hiss in anger, this could slow your pace considerably if the blimberry potions cannot heal it.

Fenestra gave you two blimberry potions and half the payment of thirty gold in advance, once you agreed to her contract. She gave two more potions and the rest of the gold upon completion. You drink one and the pain lessens to that of a dull ache. You look at the now freshly scabbed over wound, you move your leg and the wound opens slightly, blood slowly oozing from the ripped scab. You grimace. Taking another blimberry potion you drink it and the scabs morph into wide, new sensitive scars. Her potions are more potent than most blimberry potions you have taken. 

You wriggle out of your shredded trousers, changing into your slightly damp spares. Taking a thread and needle you quickly stitch up the holes rended by the snattacat’s claws.

You lay down in the lush leafy jungle bush, you are well hidden here, it should be safe enough to rest for a few hours at least. You turn from one side to the other, the bush is not terribly uncomfortable but your mind keeps replaying today’s events making you feel restless.

Your thoughts turn to the Analander, the same woman that is forcing you unknowingly along her same path. It would have been better if she had killed you or you her, then you would not have to suffer the baklands. 

She had declared her interest in getting to know you better during the game, idle chatter to throw you off your game, her smile had been almost believable. You recall how her breasts kept bumping the table as she leaned down to check her die. She is, you believe around your age if not younger, no doubt she has pert breasts. You feel your manhood twitch with an interested arousal.

Finally a proper distraction, you smile removing your gloves.

You untie your trousers, your hands snaking down to grip you manhood now free from its confines. You stroke yourself slowly trying to form a fantasy of her.

How different the night could have gone if she had suggested getting a room, instead of her agreeing to your suggestion of taking her to an abandoned council chamber you find a serviceable room at an inn. You rarely bother to fraternize outside the thieves or assassins guilds. However she is pretty enough to catch your eye and strong enough to best you truely an impossible combination, one that is rather appealing at the moment.

You close your eyes for a moment focusing on picturing her naked, her skin is most likely smooth without a single scar or mark marring her flesh, as you would expect from someone that practices magic. Her legs are long, well sculpted, perfect for wrapping around your waist.

You picture her nude on her knees, you thrust roughly into her mouth holding her in place by her inky black hair. You thrust into the back of her throat, she gags and you hold her in place, she rights herself, breathing in and out slowly through her nose. She is not the type to sit idly with no reason to you suspect. 

Your thoughts shift to her body under you, moaning and wanton with her on her knees, head buried in the mattress. She keens writhing under you as you use her body for your pleasure.

Your strokes quicken and you bite your lip to keep from making any noise lest you alert some other unnatural beast to your hidden location.

You recall the way she smiled when she won the game five dice still in her hand, she has an infuriatingly beautiful smile. Your fantasy shifts of its own accord. She’s under you on her back kissing your neck, your chin then your lips. “Take me Flanker.” She breathes in between breath stealing kisses. Your hand tightens around your shaft moving down slowly as you recall how it feels to enter a woman.

It’s wrong to think of the Analander, your rival that seeks the crown, the person you are indebted to in such a manner. Kissing is something lovers do, but the picture in your mind is all the more pleasing with kissing involved. 

You think of how she would feel as you thrust into her quim. She is soaked, and perfectly tight around you. Your hand moves quicker, thumb swiping over your head occasionally spreading the dew that has begun to gather at the tip.

“Please, please don’t stop!” She begs. Your hips cant and you thrust into your fist. You groan quietly as you reach your end swiftly, you catch your come with your other hand preventing you from staining your black trousers.

You look around looking for the best place to wipe your hand clean on, the two best options are the bushes which you intend to sleep in and the leaves of the sapling which are clear on the other side of the bridge.

The last thing you need is to roll over in the night and stain the black clothes and armor, getting up you walk over to the tree, you feel a small amount of shame as you wipe your seed on the sapling’s smooth bough and leaves. 

Walking back to the bushes you pause looking back at the tree that you defiled. Your seed is not very noticeable but you know what is there, you shake your head disgusted with your actions.

Laying down in the bushes you take a deep breath, followed by another feeling slightly more relaxed, you close your eyes. You sleep peacefully through the night.

You wake at dawn's-light to the sound of boots softly trodding on nearby stone. The pattern of their gait is familiar, someone you’ve met then. You cannot place a face or name to the pattern of steps as tired as you are.

You move slowly to get a better view from the bushes a branch snags on your sleeve causing the bush to rustle slightly. You curse inwardly at your sleep grogged, clumsy movement.

You get a look at the boots they are well made, caked with mud but you can make out little else. Crawling on your stomach, you look up seeing boots running up high on long legs, craning your neck you see sidepack for magic hanging from a woman’s waist; an empty sword belt hanging just below it. 

Whoever she is, she will be easy to dispatch for supplies. 

She turns looking at the bush as you inch forward and you see her face. High cheekbones common among those of Analandish blood, those unmistakable gold eyes, and inky black hair all partially hidden under a thick linen hood. The Analander, the very woman who you had thought of as you pleasured yourself last night.

It cannot be a coincidence that she should show up on this bridge… 

Was this her plan? 

To cast a spell on you at night, and take advantage of you the next day.

No you had felt shame about what you had thought of, kissing her, being so intimate with someone you hardly know. Unless she weaved the spell in such a way that you could still think. A subtle spell to get under your skin and make you think of her.

She has magic, charm and beauty, all marks of being an enchantress, a vile magic practitioner that bends the will men and women alike, binding their souls to serve their every whim with foul magics.

She had seemed friendly enough in Kharé… You even found yourself missing her chatter during your game, after she stopped talking and started all but pouting.

Was that her magic at work then too? 

Why would she have wasted such magics on you then It makes no sense...unless she has some grand design to use you as a puppet. If that is the case you must thank Sindla for her protections as such a spell has not been cast over you.

She reaches for her sidepack pulling out a vial of sand of all things, she uncorks it and reaches for the bushes. You still, heart beating rapidly in your chest, as the bushes part.

“Now there is a face I have not forgotten.” You call out to her smoothly. She sees you and corks the bottle of sand putting it back into her sidepack. 

“Flanker?” She blinks in surprise. 

“Well met.” You say as you jump to your feet then dust yourself down.

“It’s good to see you.” She smiles warmly, her arms open and she moves towards you. It has to be a ploy.

Why would she not use everything at her disposal to survive out here just as you do?

Resources are scarce, and a knife in the back of someone you have half-bewitched would be an all too tempting way to get supplies for a sorceress, you cannot fall for this trap. Your honor and debt prevents you from taking the first strike, still you reach for your blade. You will not be cut down here, by some vile enchantress without a sword.

She tenses her smile falling, she looks at you with confusion, perhaps whatever spell she had tried to cast upon you while you slept failed. “Flanker, I am your friend.” Her voice is soft as if you are a skittish animal to be calmed; It is infuriating.

“We are not friends. I’m merely in your debt.” You inform her glaring daggers at her to get the point across.

She meets your gaze fearlessly as few are capable of.“‘My friend and my enemy.’ Those were your words when we met at the festival and you called me friend once more at the inn.” 

“That was merely a tactic to get you to agree to the game. Which you used magic to win! We have never been friends.” You growl out. There is no logical reason as to why she won against you, keeping every one of her die, aside from magic.

Her shoulders slump and she looks out to the forest floor. You did not think being called a cheat at swindlestones would drop the spirits of such a fearsome opponent, perhaps you should have accused her during your game, then you would be free of your debt to her. “I’ve never used magic to win a game. It’s just a game of probabilities and lying. There’s a more complex game with cards in analand that is similar in those veins.” She tells you.

“How did you get here?” She turns to look at you, appraising you for weaknesses no doubt as you have with her. “To the bridge, I mean.”

“I leapt across the Babbu-Bak gorge. I climbed the Babbu-Bak ridge, and used my climbing hooks to descend into the trees. I have killed seven snattacats before I found this bridge in which to shelter.” You explain precisely, her expression is less awed than you expected. “How have you made the journey?” You ask her curious as to how she got so far, no doubt through the use of some sort of magic.

“A similar way, more rock demons and talking lynch-bug queens, less snattacats.” She tells you. Then perhaps she broke her sword facing such beasts, such a thing is understandable. That is why you always take multiple weapons with you when you travel.

“You lost your sword facing such beasts then?” You question her.

She looks at you pursing her lips together in thought. “I am not without weapons.” She says vaguely, looking down the edge of the bridge to the base of the pillar you climbed up on. Glancing down you see nothing but jungle canopy below you.

“Are you heading to mampang for a job?” She asks you.

There is little reason for anyone to travel into the Baklands other than traveling to Mampang. However you shudder at the thought of the Analander learning of your current contract. She would surely turn on you. You must be careful how you answer, else she begin to suspect you.

“Perhaps I am.” You answer her with a shrug.

“Will you travel with me then?” She asks a hopeful look in her eyes. 

Without a sword no doubt she is looking for protection against her enemy and his serpents. You have fought one serpent, you will not risk your life fighting six others for her regardless of your life debt. You can’t help but to grimace at the thought.

You shake your head. “I will not. You are the target of the Archmage. You have the most powerful enemy in the land.” 

She smiles ruefully. “I suppose I should be flattered that the archmage went through all the trouble just for me.” She says bitterly, with blatant hatred in her voice. This hatred goes far beyond the Archmage stealing the crown from her homeland you suspect.

You move to leave and she calls to you. “Flanker wait! Break fast with me, please. It has been far too long since I’ve seen another living soul. I would like your company even if only for a few moments longer.”

You decline her offer of food, though your rations are low, the likelihood you will see another serpent increases exponentially with her nearby. With each passing moment you are around her you fall behind on your mission, and put your life in unneeded danger. “Analander, I do not wish you ill, but time spent with you is most dangerous.”

“Please, I… you are the first human I’ve talked to that I know exists.” She pauses then laughs awkwardly. “And your company is far more pleasant than the Klattamens was.” Bending down she reaches for her bag; picking it up she begins to rifle through it. “We can eat in silence if you wish.” She adds with a small smile.

She pulls out two bruised bomba fruits from her pack. “I fell out of a bomba tree.” She mumbles embarrassed; As she should be, who falls out of a bomba tree?

You shake your head. “I have tarried here far too long already.”

She sighs and her smile falls again, she looks dejected though you are uncertain why. Perhaps she misses home or her lost sword has sentimental value to her. 

“Then take one please, they should be eaten soon and I have a third in my pack.” She walks over to you slowly handing you the bruised fruit, her hand brushing against yours as you take it from her. You stow it away in your pack for later.

“Take care.” She bids you farewell with a small smile.

“You as well.” You say with a small amount of awkwardness, returning her sentiment.

You bid her goodbye in the fashion of the assassins guild, two fingers across your neck. You strap your sword back to your back then taking a leap you swing yourself onto a pillar. You climb up the pillar reaching the top you leap to the next pillar then the one after that until you’ve made it across the accursed forest.

Climbing over the Horns of Ilklala is tiring, your arms feel heavy and feet feel leaden with exhaustion, though you have made good time. Making your way down past the snow line of the other side of the mountain. You stop to eat you, and take a break to recuperate.

She was lonely you realize, splitting open the bomba. Once again she has shown kindness to you with nothing to truly gain from it. Why does she show such kindness to you of all people? You have done nothing to warrant her actions. 

You tried to kill her the first time you met, had she lost she would have died. You had expected no mercy from her, not only did she spare the life of an assassin she bound your wounds. In Kharé you could not help but try to scare her, you wanted to see fear in her eyes, your wounded pride spurred you on. Despite reaching for her blade in that moment, your time with her had been surprisingly pleasant. 

You realize she has bewitched you with something older than magic, she’s kindled feelings in you for her, a true attraction, not just quickly sated lust that you are used to. 

Nothing about this contract is easy, one of you will have to kill the other for the crown, there is no way around it. An assassin is a shadow, never meant to find happiness, to kill, to fulfill your next contract, that is what you are meant for nothing more and nothing less.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks you to Scrumpadouchus for encouraging me to write this.


End file.
